Ritual of a broken soul
by YokaiShinari
Summary: "...one thought came to his mind. A crow so dark and hungry, he knew, it's gonna feed on him for a very long time... He failed." Daryl finds Sophia, but it's not a happy ending. What follows is his inner degradation, which harvest was initiated far back in his childhood. Warning for abuse mentions.
1. Chapter 1

_what if he just died_

 _the screams. the screams so miserable._

 _he's so weary._

 _he couldn't keep his word. what a man does that?_

 _it had to occur, that in this world, words does not matter. not at all._

 _he decided to never speak shit again._

Dixons don't do pain. Whining and wincing is for pussies. Dixon men were brought up, almost trained, not to be weak. But Daryl was shambling, panting badly; too aware of his left side, which was reminding him how nice it'd been to not be injured. His own arrow.

 _the one that saved his life one many times._

And at that moment, the farm, where everyone were, seemed to be a distant memory, instead of a place in some distance. However, he was going back empty handed. That way he wished he hadn't came back, really.

 _useless trash._

He only hoped he wouldn't stumble across no undead dead bastard no more. Hell, he probably looked like one himself: half-alive, bloody, dirty, deathbringer.

 _so fucking tired._

As if the world was in the mood of mocking him, Daryl heard a rustle in the forest. Snatching his crossbow up, he squatted as fast as his wounded side allowed him, waiting. Observing. Everything else fell quiet. No other sounds in the whole area. The hunter would swear that an ant would be heard in this strangely quiet air. The rustle continued.

His mouth felt dry from hoarse inhales that allowed him to hear better. Arms already stiff. A tug of some kind of hope in the back of his head managed to form a thought - could it be her? Maybe she heard him fighting with those walkers. Maybe the forest carried his angry shouts at his brother.

 _imagined brother._

He wanted to call Sophia softly if it was her, but he knew better. Patience is the key. Nothing is certain.

Well, except maybe death. But even if you died, you wouldn't die for sure. Someone else were to give that to you.

 _if you were kind enough not to bite their face off first..._

Suddenly the movement revealed a slow figure. And Daryl scowled mentally. It wasn't her.

 _another disappointment._

An arrow in the head was a mercy for that soul. Or whatever was once in there.

Adjusting his blood-soaked makeshift wound-dress, he sighed after retrieving his arrow from the walker's body. Damn he needed to get to the farm soon.

 _so fucking tired._

That's when he saw it.

There, where that one big tree laid silently and its roots created a core, where a small animal - or human - would find shelter for a while.

In that opening, Daryl spotted her. Crouching under the roots, with her back to the world. Her hair in more mess than August's hay bundles. Once blue shirt, now all covered in dirt and everything one could possibly make out of the forest ground.

"Sophia!" -the hunter called softly.

No reaction. He had to take few steps forward, feeling loud pounding of his heart. Her image gave him more energy, than he had while climbing that damned cliff. She had to be scared deathly. Probably she was hiding from that walker. But Hell, she was there!

"Sophia, it's okay! Come on, kid!"

She moved. Daryl didn't know what to expect from her reaction, when she'd see him. Of course he wasn't the first person a scared, young girl would want to see as her rescue. But still, he was her rescue after all. He saw her turning towards him slowly, and he stilled to not approach her too quickly. What if she spooked, thinking he was one of the dead..?

But then he heard her groan lousily and his heart sank.

no

 _I'm heading out. For the girl._

Her hands were covered in blood. Blood of a freshly devoured wild animal. She'd been feeding.

no

 _I believe this one.. bloomed for your..._

Blue was dark red. Her shirt ragged. Stained. With blood.

 _her blood..._

no

older brother's mocking laugh echoed in his head.

 _Strength. Hope…_

no.

there was no hope.

Small arms were already stretching towards him. Eyes lifeless. Skin lifeless.

 _life lifeless..._

Only snapping teeth and mindless hunger.

Daryl drew his knife, though he couldn't move an inch. He just waited as the groaning shell of a little girl approached him close enough.

Then he did what had to be done; by grabbing her hair, keeping her at distance. Far from his face, close enough to put the knife deep into the back of her head.

 _so small head. once innocent._

She fell limp in his arms.

 _dead lifeless._

And as Daryl looked at her pale, filthy face. As his eyes traced an old, ugly bite on her neck and shoulder. As he spotted dirt and blood under her fingernails... one thought came to his mind. A crow so dark and hungry, he knew, it's gonna feed on him for a very long time...

He _failed_.

He failed so _fucking_ much.

 _What are you gonna do now, you scum? You can't do nothing right. Useless. All those pretty words and smiley teeth are not gonna do good for you, or for the world that around you._

 _Shut up..._

But seriously, what now?

Go back? How?

He couldn't leave her body here. She deserved a burial. He could do it. Find a nice spot and dig a hole...

No, he didn't have an inch of energy left. Besides, they had to know. SHE had to know.

Oh, the fear. Sudden, even bigger fear crept in. The face of the mother. The very thought turned Daryl's guts. She believed him. She trusted him. The way her blue eyes searched for his, encouraged him to go. She _knew_ , he was gonna find Sophia and bring her safe home.

 _Oh, you found her, alright. Killed her ye damn self. Now you gonna wrap the body in a nice paper and drop at mother's doorstep. She's gonna be so happy_.

Daryl could only imagine.

But he promised. He gave her the word. _I'll find her_. I will track and bring her to you. You'll see.

He wanted to mean something. But what remains now, instead of empty words.

Decision made. Energy preserved. He suffered enough. Amazing, how self-hatred gives you that much of determination. _I promised. Here ya go. I'm a scum. Alright. I know. Worth nothing. But I keep my words..._ He was so angry. But it mattered nothing.

Then, with nothing on his mind but a blank space, he lifted the lightweight in his arms and started heading back. He didn't complain about his pulsing side or his legs dragging heavily. There was only hatred eating on his whole body, that dimmed everything else.

* * *

 _A/N Hey, if you reached this point, I'd like to thank you for reading this! I'd really appreaciate any kind of comment/review, we are here to support each other! :)_  
 _The second, and last chapter is in progress! I was supposed to finish this the day before, but I got distracted by happy lit Caryl tag, and couldn't wrap my mind about depressing writing. I got lost, but I'm on it. Listening to unsettling and disturbing songs about abuse helps, I guess. For the next chap, I am listening (BUT IT'S NOT BASED ON) a song Daddy by Korn. (Not recommend for victims of any abuse)._

 _What am I doing with this fic, hell, i have no idea. It's slightly OCC for Daryl, but I'm just exploring with psychology a bit... I hope._  
 _Have nice days, people._  
 _PS: THE WALKING DEAD SUNDAYS RETURN!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I feel like I didn't warn you about the atmosphere of this fic. It's dark. Depressing. I guess. But, anyway, welcome. Hope you get some feels._

* * *

Heat. The heat under too bright sky. This and the omnipresent scent of death made it feel like the world'd turned into Hell. Dry air Daryl breathed and the stench of rotting body in his arms might have confirmed this theory.

But for him Hell always had been a way of living, not just an event. The conditions just changed.

He walked out from the trees on the clearing, where the grass spread far until it reached the farmhouse. Each step weakened him more. With each step, he approached those people, whom he wanted some kind of appreciation, sign of equal treating; show them his worth. Rise above all the prejudices and the shadow of his brother. His image.

 _redneck trash_

 _danger_

 _useless shit_

 ** _Dixon_**

Being younger, he allowed himself to daydream about finding himself in a situation in which he would step up and save someone. Be a hero. Where someone would have stormed into their home, threatening his father, and Daryl would man up and kill the intruder, saving his father who'd have noticed his bravery. Be proud. This, and many other scenarios. Of course, he couldn't have done that. Not after...

Many times, when the old man would threaten Daryl himself, hurt him, while the young boy wouldn't do nothing. Only plead and scowl for less pain, begged for his life...

 _Pa, stop!_

 _Please... I never done nothing!_

 _No! Please!_

After every time he tended to his wounds, sinking down... Clenching teeth and cursing the old bitch, he promised himself next time the tables would turn...He could become _his own_ hero... But next time never came, until Daryl was old enough to move out. Scarred **forever** on his body and his soul.

This world gave him chance. That chance of becoming something. At least for a moment. To receive the praise he'd craved all his life. In the evil world he could do something good for somebody else.

This idea slapped him across the face. Painfully. With an image of a little girl, he couldn't save.

The sun burned his neck, and he felt as if his hot sweat was carving riverbeds in his skin. Heavy legs had lead him halfway through the field, when he, not much as saw, as _sensed_ some people running to him. Daryl couldn't look at them. Wished they didn't see him either. Not like this.

 _Weak_. Exposed to their eyes speaking with pity over his failure. Something he'd been denying for days. Something everyone in the group silently dreaded.

He focused his gaze down, under his feet. Watching his steps with wary eyes. Like this, he could see the bloodstained rainbow on the girl's once-blue shirt.

 _Lost hope_. They say, when it rains, look for a rainbow: when it's hard, seek positivity in every situation. Now, all this hope was covered in dirt and dried chunks o skin and flesh. How ironic.

 _Nothing left. Fucking comedy._

Someone said something to him. He heard. Something like offering of help. As if it would do anything now. They didn't know. No. It was his. **His only**. He just had to deliver the message. The body. The evidence of pure pain.

 _"_ _Dude, you're barely on your feet, let us..."_

 _"_ _No"_ \- was all he said. Growled in wrench. He didn't stop.

They only laugh at you. They seem sympathetic, but they mock you every bitchy step you take.

 **you're barely on your feet**

 _pathetic_

 _always pathetic_

 _worthless_

 _stinky_

 _dangerous_

 _everyone avert their eyes_

 _or stare at you, ready to strike_

His inner island of his mind was a tiny little spot on the ocean of insults and self-hating thoughts. The waves always flooded the land. Choking him. Making him cry for help, that never came. Dark water around. And crows. _Crows_ screaming, waiting, circling above his head, leaving him insomniac, for he couldn't frighten them away to rest. _HE_ was too damn scared.

 _Always scared._

Inside, on his island, with no one to help.

 _His brother?_ He would come, spend some time, it was comforting, but only for a while. And then he left him. _Always leaving_. Leaving with nothing but himself alone.

Daryl's hands clutched at the little body more. Then he heard another voice. And it started to carve in the hardness of his heart the most hurtful words he'd ever received.

 **Her** scream was the voice.

First was a hopeful, but uncertain call for a once living girl's name.

Air flew out of Daryl's lungs with a raspy sound. _No, don't do it. Stop having hope, woman. Don't you see? There's never been any._

She saw it. _The horror_. The hopelessness.

In the loose circle, that those meaningless people created, there were them. Daryl stood, not daring to look up at the mother, that woman ceased to be in the moment, that poor girl let out her last breath. Carol, whose voice stuck in her throat, was approaching carefully the man, who was holding her child.

 **Dead child.**

 _No_

 _Sophia_

 _My baby_

 _oh, my baby_

The phantom weight of the death on him overwhelmed Daryl. His legs gave in. The pain was nothing. But the guilt... and the words of emotional destruction.. It was tearing him apart. Just like the sudden burst of mother's tears. Her howling followed her to the ground. Followed her child's torn silhouette, where the hunter grounded her gently. He was kneeling, breathing heavily, seeing Carol's hands reaching for a covered in blood small hand. His sweat dripping on his chest, and small droplets were also slowly sinking low from his chin. Only when it started to blur his vision, he realized, they were tears.

 **His tears.**

 _Devastation._

 _Failure._

 _Helplessness._

Everything burned him from the inside. It was nothing in comparison to mother's pain and grief. He deserved it.

He deserved **_IT_**. This, and nothing more.

 _Tired. Tired. Tired._

He would **never** be anyone's hero. Never would escape his island. It was always him. Always alone. Always in pain that he should endure for the rest of his life.

Choking sounds of mourning sunk deeply in his head. It was bound to happen. Why did he promised anything in this ever uncertain fuckery that clearly was their life now? He promised. And _failed_.

 _Not for the first time though._

But now... It meant more. _For what? For a thought of a little boy who didn't want to be alone_.

 _Pitiful._

He decided to never speak shit again.

Daryl couldn't do anything more, as his body toppled on the ground. _No one cared._

He couldn't keep his word. What a man does that?

 _No man. You're just a dog shit, remember that._

He's so weary. _Fucking, fucking tired_

The screams. The screams so miserable.

Her child **dead**. Her only hope, covered in blood. And _nothing_.

What if he just died?

What if _he_ just **died**...

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for reading! I wanted to finish the story earlier, but well RL and too much of promising spoilers. But I made it. Please, don't yell at me for this angsty story. I loved the idea. Have a good day/night, sweethearts. :)_


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